


certain as the sun

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Historical, Castles, Curses, Falling In Love, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Monster!Hermann, Monsterfucker!Newt, Oral Sex, Size Difference, i'm gonna keep it real with you chief: he fucks the monster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 19:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16666957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: “Aren’t you frightened?” Hermann growls, half in irritation, half in bewilderment.The man—who’s named Newton, Hermann learned, by way of quick introduction after Newton unceremoniously barged through his castle doors, deposited a little suitcase on the floor, and tossed his jacket on the coat hook, all the while yelling about the long walk there and how cold it is, the castle has fifty chimneys, how has Hermann not lit a single fireplace—scoffs. “Why should I be?” he says.(or: a beauty and the beast au where newt doesn't really have the time for fairy tale conventions when there are hot monsters to investigate, there's no talking furniture, and absolutely no one is held prisoner anywhere)





	certain as the sun

**Author's Note:**

> originally begun as a [drabble on tumblr](http://hermannsthumb.tumblr.com/post/176664607153/im-really-diggin-the-idea-of-a-beauty-and-the) based on feriowind's AU on twitter, then expanded by request! first thousand words or so are the drabble (ALSO crossposted in my ficlet collection but ill prob delete that chapter), remaining 4k is expanded :)
> 
> i've actually had this done since august or so, but i feel like november is the perfect time for spooky atmospheric castles. in hindsight i dont TOTALLY love how i wrote this. but. it is what it Is

The day has taken a turn that Hermann did not expect when he woke this morning prepared to spend it alone and brooding as usual. For one thing, there’s a man in his foyer. For another, the man does not appear to be leaving any time soon. Typically when travelers stumble upon Hermann’s castle, it’s entirely by accident, and they flee the second they lay eyes on Hermann. But this man—

“Aren’t you  _frightened_?” Hermann growls, half in irritation, half in bewilderment.

The man—who’s named Newton, Hermann learned, by way of quick introduction after Newton unceremoniously barged through his castle doors, deposited a little suitcase on the floor, and tossed his jacket on the coat hook, all the while yelling about the long walk there and how cold it is, the castle has fifty chimneys, how has Hermann not lit a single fireplace—scoffs. “Why should I be?” he says.

A number of reasons. The wolves lurking in the dark woods surrounding the castle. The castle itself—old, decrepit, deserted, rumored haunted by the locals in the village beyond (rumors that Hermann routinely stokes himself, what with all his lurking in shadows, to keep up his privacy). Newton should be afraid of  _Hermann_ , some seven feet tall, clawed and fanged, clothing torn and tattered, like some sort of walking nightmare or monster from a children’s book, and he should be afraid of the way Hermann emerged snarling from the shadows when Newton dared set foot on his property.

But Newton wasn’t afraid when he saw Hermann, and he isn’t afraid now. If anything, he looks—fascinated.

Newton reaches out towards one of Hermann’s claws, and Hermann flinches away. (Hermann hasn’t touched a human being in some ten years.) “The villagers told me ‘the devil himself’ lurked here,” Newton says, unperturbed by Hermann’s sudden movement, and he continues reaching out until he can stroke gently at a claw, “and that you’d eat me or something.” He gives Hermann a long (and appreciative?) once-over. “They didn’t say you’d be hot, man.”

Hot? “Hot?” Hermann says.

Newton grins up at him. There’s a little glint in his eyes. Newton isn’t bad looking himself, truthfully, now that they’re on the subject of attraction. He’s short (shorter than Hermann’s human form), soft around the middle, and he’s got messy brown hair and eyeglasses that keep sliding down his nose. “One might say  _sexy_ ,” Newton says. He wraps his fingers around the claw (nearly as big as a single one of Newton’s hands). “I certainly would.”

Hermann’s not sure if he’s even capable of blushing anymore, in his current monstrous state, but his face does feel distinctly warmer. “You sought me out  _willingly_?” he says, once the full extent of Newton’s previous words have sunk in. Surely Newton must be mad, then—what kind of man is warned of a hideous beast lurking in the woods and decides to go  _look_  for it? (And then  _flirts_  with it?)

“Yeah.” Newton shrugs. “Everyone thinks I’m weird back home, you know, so I don’t have anyone to talk to. You sounded like you might be fun company.” He lets go of Hermann and rolls up his shirtsleeves, revealing ink snaking up his forearms. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Hermann,” Hermann says. And, in case it matters (because Newton is appealing to look at, maybe it might make him want to stay a bit longer), adds, “You should know my state isn’t permanent.”

Newton looks up sharply. “It’s not?” he says. He sounds disappointed, which is a reaction Hermann did not anticipate.

“I was cursed,” Hermann explains. “I’m really as human as you.” Hermann usually tries not to dwell on his memories of being human, as it usually just upsets him, but he really _does_  miss it. It was much easier to attend to his studies and work telescopes and pens and chalkboards when he was human, and (as his bad hip carried over into his monstrous form) he's yet to find a suitably  _strong enough_  replacement for his old, and unfortunately quite shattered, cane. He was also rather fond of his cheekbones.

Newton nods slowly. “Cursed,” he repeats. “Well, what’s the catch? How are you supposed to break it? True love?”

“Essentially,” Hermann concedes. It’snice to get this all off his chest. He hasn’t had another person to talk to in—well, ever, now that he thinks about it, something that Newton apparently understands intimately. “Someone must fall in love with me. And I must fall in love in return. As you can imagine I haven’t had much luck in breaking it.”

Newton undoes a button on his shirt. “I  _see_ ,” he says, sounding very much like he  _doesn’t_ see why Hermann hasn’t had much luck. It does wonders for Hermann’s ego. When Newton notices Hermann staring at his newly bared throat, he loosens his little cravat (patterned with flowers and what looks to be tiny lizards) and undoes another two buttons. “Well, Hermann, tell you what. You let me chill here with you for a bit, and I bet I can do it in _no time_.”

Newton smiles, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. Hermann doesn’t doubt him. “If you’re sure, then. Of course—” Hermann feels warm again,  _confound_ this odd little man, “–you’re welcome to stay for as long as you’d like. No caveats attached.” 

“Hey, cool!” Newton says, and just like that his demeanor changes from fascinationback to flirtatious. “You know, for the record,” he bats his eyelashes and leans up on the tips of his boots to press a hand to Hermann’s large chest, “ _this_  is really doing it for me, too.”

Newton’s hand is warm, even through Hermann's thick skin, the matted dark hair that covers him. Hermann has never— well, he has never _been_ with someone before, not in his human state, and _especially_ not in his current monstrous state, but even he can recognize seduction (touch, lowered eyelids, throaty voice) when he sees it. Arousal tinged with _uncertainty_ floods through Hermann. Newton can’t sincerely want him like this, can he?

Hermann finds his answer when Newton drops his eyes between Hermann’s legs, sizing him up. Hermann is clothed as well as he can be (he’s not barbaric) but Newton’s unashamed lust is making him feel practically nude. “Hermann,” Newton says, and he fumbles with his cravat and pulls it off entirely, drops it to the floor, exposing more of what can only be soft, lovely skin; he reaches for one of Hermann’s long claws again. Hermann pulls away.

“Ah,” he says. “Newton—I should show you your room.”

Newton is visibly disappointed, but he nods. He picks up his little suitcase but leaves his cravat on the floor.

Hermann does not entertain guests frequently, or ever, but the castle is large and spacious, so finding somewhere to squeeze Newton will not be difficult. There are plenty of bedrooms, in both the eastern and western wings, and yet Hermann gives Newton the room directly next door to his. Newton is delighted by all of it: a canopy bed (dusty and old with tattered curtains, at this point), windows that overlook the courtyard (overgrown and wild), a few crowded bookshelves (journals and dictionaries and books of poetry). Newton immediately flops onto his bed face-first. “Wow,” he says, voice muffled. “I _love_ it. Much better than the shitty place I was living in back home.” He wriggles up onto his side, props himself up on his elbow, shoots Hermann a grin. “Where’s your room?”

“Next door,” Hermann admits.

Newton looks smug. “I see,” he says. “‘Night, Hermann.”

 

* * *

 

That night, as Hermann lays on his makeshift bed—regular beds all have a tendency to collapse beneath his mass, so he sleeps mostly on a bundle of blankets and pillows— the castle rests quietly.

Newton, however, does not. Hermann hears him wandering the hallways, opening doors, searching through closets, all the while humming to himself. Continuously his steps falter in front of Hermann’s door and linger there, as if Newton wants nothing more than to knock, but can’t seem to quite bring himself to. Hermann’s not sure if _he_ would be able to bring himself to invite Newton in if Newton did, anyway; Newton visiting Hermann’s chambers so late at night, and with so obvious a desire for Hermann, can only mean one thing: he craves an intimacy that Hermann is too nervous to indulge. So Newton doesn’t knock, and Hermann doesn’t invite him in.

The next morning, Newton is bright and chipper. Strange, considering how little Hermann knows he slept. “Your castle is _so cool_ ,” he says, greeting Hermann in the dusty, dark old kitchen. He’s dug through Hermann’s pantry as well as lit a fire in the hearth, evidently, and found some ancient teabags he soaked in hot water for the both of them. The China cups he’s also found are just as ancient, chipped and discolored, but the way Newton’s fingers curl about his manages to make it look almost new. “You have a library! And a _lab_! You didn’t say you’re a scientist!”

“I am,” Hermann says, trying—uselessly—to pick up his teacup. (He can’t remember the last time he had tea.) Newton notices and flushes with embarrassment.

“Whoops,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t think—” He rushes to Hermann’s side, tips the contents of Hermann's cup into Hermann’s mouth. Once Hermann swallows Newton sets the cup down, but his other hand—the hand he’d placed on Hermann’s jaw to steady himself—lingers. “You’re soft,” he says, delightedly, and he strokes Hermann’s cheek with the tips of his fingers.

Hermann jerks away, cursing himself for it almost immediately once he sees the look on Newton’s face. “Yes,” he says hurriedly, “I am a scientist. Well—I used to be a scientist.”

“You’ll be a scientist again,” Newton says, a smile creeping onto his face, and he leans back in and strokes Hermann’s cheek once more until Hermann coughs and turns away, face hot.

Newton explores the rest of the castle that day, peering down corridors and halls and picking up odd little things that amuse him—notably, a few of Hermann’s old scientific journals, ones he filled with equations and theorems before his transformation. Newton reads them by the same hearth he lit a fire in that morning, laying on his stomach on the little carpet and dressed in a sweater Hermann recognizes as one of his own (pre-transformation as well, of course). He looks...handsome, studious and wrapped in Hermann’s clothing like that. “You’re a fucking _genius_ , Hermann,” he says. “You really did all this yourself?”

Hermann preens a little. “I did,” he says.

Newton’s smile is back, as warm as the fire. (Newton makes him feel so _warm_ , even after only a day of knowing him, single-handedly warding off the chill and the loneliness of Hermann’s drafty castle.)

Newton invents things, Hermann learns, as they talk. Newton has a whole workshop back at his home in the village. Not many peers, however, and certainly no friends to share his work with. (He’s reclusive, like Hermann.) He seems more than enthused when Hermann asks him to detail some of what he does over a little dinner that Newton scrounges up from his cabinets (dusty-tasting old pasta and tomatoes from the wild, thorny greenhouse just in the back). “Eventually,” Newton says, wistfully, “I’d like to bring all my junk up here and we can work _together_. I could get into that big brain of yours, see what you know.” He twirls his fork between his fingers. “Hm?”

Does Newton know how Hermann’s heart thuds with every passing mention of a future together? Of every indication that he’ll _stay_ with Hermann and build a life with him? “Of course,” Hermann says. “Yes, Newton, of _course_.”

Newton scoots his chair back from the old dining table and jumps to his feet. He’s rolled the arms of Hermann’s sweater up; his tattoos are intricate, Hermann sees now, fascinating and beautiful, different monsters and large reptilian creatures. Dragons, he thinks. “Tea?” Newton says.

“Yes,” Hermann says again.

 

* * *

  

The next day passes much as the one before, and the days after that, and soon it’s been two weeks that Newton’s been in his life. Newton makes him tea, explores the castle, bombards him with questions about his life before The Transformation, as Newton insists on calling it with ominous significance. He ventures out to gather vegetables and firewood in the early afternoons, pieces meals together in the evenings. It’s the happiest Hermann’s ever been.

Still: every night, he hears Newton wandering the halls and stopping everywhere but Hermann’s bedroom. And Hermann _does_ want him to stop, more than anything; he wants to strip Newton of his clothing and take Newton apart and piece him back together in the most exquisite way, learn the pitch of his moans, what he looks like when he’s needy and debauched and overcome with pleasure. But Newton doesn’t knock, so Hermann doesn’t invite him in.

 

* * *

  

The first rainstorm of Newton’s stay sees them both confined inside all day. Newton doesn’t tend the greenhouse, but instead bundles himself in Hermann’s sweaters and stokes the fires. (“It’s so _cold_ ,” Newton says, tugging the cuffs down over his hands, “ _shit_ ,” and Hermann wants nothing more than to wrap Newton in his arms and keep him warm, but Newton doesn’t ask, so Hermann doesn’t offer.)

 

The storm persists that night. Newton wanders the halls again as he always does, and Hermann finds he can’t sleep, either. He spends hours tossing and turning and listening to thunder and wind rage outside.

It would explain why he didn’t hear the knocking on his heavy bedroom door, at first, until it picks up in speed. Hermann raises his head and squints in its direction. (He misses being able to wear eyeglasses.)

“Yes?” Hermann calls.

The door swings open. Newton stands in the doorway, framed sharply as lightning flashes in the corridor behind him. “Hermann,” he says, fidgeting with the buttons of his pajama shirt (green, cotton, and undoubtedly soft). Hermann stares.

“Yes,” Hermann repeats. “Is something the matter, Newton?”

Newton pops open one of his buttons. “It’s cold in my room,” he says. “ _Really_ cold. And yours is so _warm_.”

“Newton,” Hermann says, anxiety settling over him once more, because he knows what Newton wants, Hermann wants it too, but Hermann will hurt him. He’s too _big_. He could crush Newton. He could—

Newton pops another button. He bites at his lip. “Could I stay with you?” he says.

Hermann’s anxiety spikes. “You don’t want to,” he says, mouth dry, “Newton, you can’t— ”

But Newton doesn’t back down. “Hermann,” he says, “don’t you want to _touch_ me?” He blinks, wide-eyed and sweet and innocent, and he palms at the front of his cotton pajama bottoms. His eyelashes flutter, and he parts his lips; arousal settles heavy in Hermann’s stomach, and his cock stirs with interest. He _does_ want to touch Newton, so very badly, and Newton is eyeing the bulge in Hermann’s trousers once more and palming himself a little faster. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” Newton says, in a low voice. “How big are you, Hermann? Could I take it?” Newton steps forward and shuts the door carefully, illuminated only by soft candlelight now. His hair tumbles over his forehead; his eyeglasses glint in the flames. He raises his other hand up to rub hard over one of his nipples through his shirt, and makes a show of dropping his head back and moaning. “Oh,” he says, “ _Hermann_.”

Hermann can’t help himself. He reaches out, rests one of his claws at the top of Newton’s shirt. One little drag down and Newton’s shirt will be on the floor. Another, and so will his pajama bottoms (ripped down the front seams). Newton looks at him expectantly; _hell_ , Hermann thinks.

He swipes his claw down. Buttons clink to the floor. Newton moans again, shrugs the shirt off his shoulders. Hermann hooks the tip of his claw at the front of Newton’s pants and tugs them down (gentle, not as violently as he imagined, he does not rip those off), and Newton steps out of them.

He’s naked, and lovely: skin colorful with ink, nipples pink, hair trailing down his chest, leading to—Hermann feels a moan, deep and strong, building in the back of his throat—a nice cock that’s already hard and flushed. Newton sees him looking and runs his hands down his chest, tweaks one of his nipples, takes his cock in hand and rubs his thumb over the head. “Let me see you,” Newton breathes, rolling his foreskin between his fingers, “let me—” Newton drops his hands and stumbles forward to the edge of Hermann’s makeshift bed, reaching for one of his legs. He tugs at the cloth.

Newton is so small, so delicate. Hermann does not want to hurt him. “Newton—” he begins, but Newton shakes his head, crawls between the v of Hermann’s legs. Hermann is hard already, which seems to please Newton to no end. He rubs at the center seam of Hermann’s pants with both hands.

“I want to see you,” Newton says breathily, and leans in and presses a kiss at the fabric, “please.” He mouths at Hermann, licks at him with his little pink tongue. He looks up, pleading, a blush across his face, his pupils blown.

Hermann wants to fuck Newton. He’s too big to do it properly, he knows, but what would Newton feel like? Soft, he’s sure, as soft as the rest of him, with tight little walls that Hermann would be able to feel every fluttering movement of. When he’s human (because he’s sure it’ll be no time before he falls in love with Newton at this rate) the first thing he’s going to do is spread Newton out beneath him and fuck him senseless. But he’s not human yet, and Newton is still _begging_ for a go at him.

Hermann nods and lays back, inviting Newton to do with him what he will.

Newton immediately sets to work pulling down the waistband of Hermann’s trousers, over his legs, past his bottom claws, and when Hermann’s prick springs forward—very nearly the three-fourths the size of Newton—Newton grins. He inches forward and wraps his hands around the head, eyeing it up speculatively, and Hermann twitches helplessly under his touch. “I’ve never sucked a dick this big before,” he tells Hermann, and the crassness of the statement almost makes Hermann blush, and his cock twitches again. Newton’s grin only grows. “I’ve never been _fucked_ by a dick this big before,” he continues, a little teasing. He reaches down to stroke his own cock again, slicking it with his precome.

Hermann’s never fucked _anyone_. He watches with bated breath as Newton leans in and plants a little—almost chaste—kiss to his cock, right at the tip. Newton wraps his arms around it, then, and presses another kiss, dips his tongue right into the slit. Stars burst behind Hermann’s eyelids, and he groans so loudly the castle walls almost seem to tremble. “Hermann,” Newton says, squeezing his arms around Hermann and dipping his tongue into the slit again. He laps up precome eagerly, presses hot, sucking kisses to the head, at his shaft, and Hermann jerks his hips up hard enough that Newton almost falls off.

“Is this good?” Newton coos, locking eyes with Hermann. He starts rubbing his whole body against Hermann’s cock, and Hermann can feel how hard he is. Precome drools, white and stark, down Newton’s chin. Newton’s tongue darts out to clean up what he can. “Is itgood, Hermann?”

“ _Yes,_  Newton,” Hermann moans; he’s never felt anything like this before. Newton plants more soft, sucking little kisses to the head and grinds his hard cock into Hermann’s. He squeezes his arms one last time—

And Hermann comes with a deafening _shout_ , thick sticky ropes of it hitting Newton’s face, his hair, his eyeglasses, trailing down his neck and chest. Newton—just visible through Hermann’s come—blinks in surprise and drops his arms from Hermann’s already-softening cock, lands with a little _oof_ on the ground. He licks his lips. The surprise on his face is replaced with delight. “Cool!” he exclaims. “Lemme. Real quick.” He slicks his hand up with a little of Hermann’s release that decorates his hair and starts fisting his own cock again, moaning softly. Hermann has just come, he can’t imagine he’ll be able to get it up again, but—he’d like—

He sits up unsteadily until he’s above Newton, dwarfing him, and Newton’s hand slows to a halt. “Hermann?” 

Hermann’s teeth are long and sharp, each the size of one of Newton’s forearms, and he’s careful to keep them a careful distance from Newton as he licks a line down Newton’s chest, tasting his own release and the salt of sweat on Newton’s skin. “Newton,” Hermann says—as soft as he can manage, in the monstrous growl his voice has become these days, “sweet man—” He licks up Newton’s cock with the flat of his tongue, long and broad and dragging rough against Newton’s colorful skin.

“Oh!” Newton cries. “ _Oh_ —!”

He bucks up against Hermann and Hermann curls his tongue as well as he can around Newton’s cock, squeezing and flicking his tongue against the slit, and Newton arches his back and _wails_ , coming across Hermann’s tongue.

Hermann pulls away, swallows Newton’s release down as Newton pants and looks up at him with heavy eyelids. “Fuck,” he says, “ _shit_ , Hermann.”

 

Newton stays in his bed, that night, nude and spent and curled under Hermann’s arm, and he sleeps there the next night, and the night after that. They spend their days together as they’ve done every day before, only with exciting new additional intimacies: they collect food in the surrounding woods together once the greenhouse proves tiresome (Hermann protecting Newton from any and all threats), tidy up the castle together, and Newton reads to Hermann and massages his hip and stokes fires (so it’s not so _cold_ anymore) and kisses and strokes and noses against his face. They learn each other’s bodies in Hermann’s bedroom every night—Newton exploring Hermann with strong, clever hands and more soft kisses, Hermann exploring Newton with his tongue and the tips of his claws (not enough to injure or wound, never enough to do something like _that_ , but enough to leave little red marks that make Newton writhe and beg for _more_ ).

Tonight, Newton lays face-down on Hermann’s bed, ass in the air and legs spread in anticipation as Hermann licks his way down Newton’s spine. Hermann cannot fuck him—not yet, as much as he’d like to—but his tongue is a good replacement for now. “Spread yourself,” he breathes against Newton’s back (so small, compared to Hermann) and Newton shivers. Newton reaches back two of his hands back to his ass, parts his cheeks, and Hermann drags his tongue down the center, across Newton’s hole. Newton whimpers.

“More,” he pleads, and Hermann obliges, stiffens his tongue and rubs harder. Newton’s knuckles are white on his ass, and he lifts his hips and rubs back. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he moans, “oh—” The tip of his tongue nudges against Newton’s balls as Newton grinds back and Newton nearly _thrashes_ back and forth. “Oh, _Hermann_ ,” he sobs. He spills over the sheets and his chest, untouched, and Hermann flips Newton over easily with the tip of a claw and licks it up from his skin.

“Fuck me,” Newton pleads, chest heaving, “ _please_.”

“I can’t,” Hermann says. “You’re not— ”

Newton rolls himself over and gets back up on his knees, thighs parted invitingly once more, Hermann’s saliva running down them. “Between my legs,” he breathes, looking over his shoulder. “Fuck me, Hermann, come on, please, I want it so bad— ”

Hermann does not need to be asked twice, especially not with Newton’s babbling exciting him as much as it does. He gets behind Newton, also on his knees, pushes his cock between the tight chasm of Newton’s thighs. Enough to lift him from the ground. He feels Newton’s softened cock against his. “Like that,” Newton moans, “ _yes_ —”

Hermann pulls back and fucks forward again, and again, harder and faster, his cock leaking precome to the floor, and Newton whines and writhes and bucks against him. He clenches his thighs tighter around Hermann’s cock with each thrust forward, and Hermann closes his eyes, picturing what it is he really wants: Newton beneath him, legs in the air and hooked over Hermann’s shoulders, fingering himself open for Hermann—Hermann, no longer a monster—Hermann, pushing into Newton and fucking him, while Newton moans and grabs Hermann’s hair and begs Hermann to go harder, _harder_ , “Harder,” Newton cries, “oh—!”

Hermann fucks forward one more time and comes, half of his release hitting Newton, the other half hitting the floor, and Newton’s limbs go lax and he collapses in a near-heap on Hermann’s cock. “God _damn,_ ” Newton mumbles. “Fuck, Hermann. Are you this awesome when you’re—you know—”

Human, he doesn’t say, but Hermann understands. _We’ll have to find out_ , he thinks.

 

Newton continuously finds new ways to bring pleasure to Hermann: he takes a certain joy in sucking Hermann off while rubbing against him, parting his soft thighs and taking Hermann’s cock between them, once—memorably— _straddling_ his cock and rubbing off on him like that, while his fingers danced across the head of Hermann’s cock. Each time, Hermann thinks of how marvelous it’ll be to be back in his human body and out of this monster’s. He can hold Newton properly in his arms and kiss him, then. Newton. Wonderful, brilliant, odd Newton, Newton, so eager, so excitable. Hermann thinks he may be half in love with him already.

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” Newton says one evening as he lays in Hermann’s arms. They haven’t fucked that night. Newton is simply enjoying the warmth of him, and Hermann enjoys the warmth of Newton.

Hermann’s fangs are sharp. “I’d hurt you,” he says. “I don’t want to do that. It’s the last thing I want to do.”

Hermann’s taken to sleeping nude—less work for Newton, should he wish to suddenly engage in sex—but Newton still wears his soft green cotton pajamas. Now, he shucks them off, lets them fall to the floor. He sits up on Hermann’s chest. “Hermann,” he says, smiling. “You’re a sweet guy, you know?” Then, crassly, “It gets me _so_ horny.”

Hermann laughs, but he realizes Newton is being serious. Newton’s libido is high and practically insatiable. He was on the verge of sleep seconds ago, but now he starts pinching at his nipples, rubbing at the head of his cock and over his balls, drawing soft little moans out of himself. “Hermann,” he declares, “when you’re human, the first thing I’m doing is riding your dick.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm.” Newton draws his fingers of his left hand up to his mouth and sucks on them, then repeats it with the right, trails saliva-slick fingers back to his nipples and pinches once more. “ _Oh_. That’s nice.”

Hermann figures he may as well humor him. “I’d love to watch you,” Hermann says, “you lovely little thing—”

Newton moans; he’s always terribly aroused when Hermann flatters him. Newton moves his fingers from his nipple to his cock instead, stroking once more. It’s a wonderful view: Newton’s chest and cock flushed red, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Stunning,” Hermann says, “simply stunning, Newton.”

“I want to kiss you,” Newton says, “please—” Hermann pushes Newton forward with one sharp clawed hand, and Newton falls flat on his chest against Hermann’s. He’s mere inches from Hermann’s mouth, and he ruts his hips desperately against Hermann. “ _Hermann_ ,” Newton moans, and surges forward, presses his lips to the smallest bit of Hermann’s bottom lip, and it’s so lovely, so gentle, so chaste—

Hermann thought his transformation would involve more fanfare. More excitement. As it is, he simply collapses—naked—into a heap on the tattered cushions he claimed as his bed and Newton lands on top of him.

“ _Ow_ ,” Newton says. Then, “Holy shit!”

Newton disentangles himself from Hermann and sits up, still straddling him, and looks him over with his mouth hanging open. Hermann is normal height. His claws and fangs are gone. His skin is appropriately human-levels of hairy. He has a head of hair. A _normal_ head of hair. His hips aches, as it always did, but his _cheekbones_ are back. And best of all: Newton is beaming at him.

“You love me!” Newton crows, clutching at Hermann’s forearms. “You’re totally in love with me!”

It’s been a mere few weeks; it’s absurd of Hermann to fall in love this fast. Ridiculous. And yet—Newton’s right. “ _You’re_ in love with me, too,” Hermann points out, feeling just as giddy. Newton swoops down and kisses him, and it’s _wonderful_ to be human, to be able to feel Newton’s lips against his as he should, to take Newton in his _arms_. “Newton,” he gasps into Newton’s mouth, clinging to him, “oh—”

“You’re hot like this, too,” Newton interrupts him with a laugh, running his hand down the smooth, pale length of Hermann’s chest. He hooks his leg over Hermann’s hip and grinds down, his cock sliding against Hermann’s. Newton leers. “And still perfect down there.”

Hermann blushes. (He _blushes_ , for the first time in years.) “Hush,” he says, and kisses Newton again. He still wants to fuck Newton, of course, but for now, all he wants to do is be close to him. Newton’s lips part eagerly under his and he brushes his tongue—warm and soft—against Hermann’s, and Hermann threads his fingers in Newton’s hair. Newton grinds his cock down again, and again, and Hermann rocks back, and they're slick with their precome and Hermann reaches down and grabs a handful of Newton’s round ass to squeeze hard.

“Oh,” Newton moans, “yeah, that's—” Hermann reaches down with his other hand to grab a bit more of Newton’s ass and squeezes again, and Newton’s hips buck forward hard and he tosses back his head and Hermann takes the chance to press kisses to his throat. He rocks his hips up once more before he feels Newton spilling on their stomachs, hot and sticky, and he bites Newton’s neck as he follows him over a moment later.

“I love you,” Newton nearly giggles, arms wrapped tight around Hermann, “ _already_.” He sounds almost delirious. “I think I was kinda in love with you the whole time, though.”

“Silly, absurd little man,” Hermann says, and Newton bumps their noses together and grins.

 

(Newton stays, of course.) 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter and tumblr at usual spots! if you're 18+ i also have a nsfw twitter @hermanngayszler for dumb headcanons and stuff!


End file.
